


Make It Or Bake It

by asphaltcowgrrl



Series: Tasty Bites - Stories About Food [2]
Category: Common Law
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphaltcowgrrl/pseuds/asphaltcowgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Travis decides to bake cookies for Wes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make It Or Bake It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kelark59](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelark59/gifts).



> Happy happy birthday! I know, not the chapter you were hoping for, but maybe this will make you smile, too? <3 Who knows, maybe they'll share with you?

“Just what the hell are you doing in my kitchen?”

Wes had only just moved into this house six weeks ago.  Since that day, Travis had been making himself more and more at home.  Which, in Wes-speak, meant that his pristine little home was slowly becoming less and less pristine the more his partner stayed over. 

“Making cookies,” Travis commented without looking up from the ancient cookbook in front of him.  “Didn’t you once tell me sugar cookies were your favorite?”

He doubted he’d told Travis any such thing, but it did sound like the kind of information Alex would have offered up during one of their ‘girl talk’ sessions.  “They are, however that does not explain just why you’re making a disaster out of my clean kitchen.”

“I thought I’d surprise you.”  Travis dipped the measuring cup into the container of powdered sugar, leveled it and dumped the fluffy white sweetness into the metal bowl of the stand mixer.  He moved to flick the mixer on.

“Travis, be careful, only turn it on—.”

He flipped the switch.  Wes hadn’t had time to warn him that his Kitchen Aid was old and touchy, that you had to be very careful because even the slightest flick of the wrist would send it to five.  The words died on his lips as confectioner’s sugar sprayed the kitchen, dousing Wes’s clean shirt and falling lightly in his hair. 

“Ooops,” Travis giggled.  “Man, you should know better than to stand so close.”

“Travis…” he warned.

The other man stood chest to chest with him.  “Wes,” he echoed.  With a finger, he drew a line down his partner’s face, leaving a streak of pale flesh under the dusting of sugar.  Travis’ finger licked the sweetness from his finger, smiling. 

“You are impossible,” Wes fumed.  “And be sure you return my kitchen to the state you found it in.  I’m going out for a bit.”

“And you’re leaving me here, man?  What the hell kind of boyfriend are you?”

A slamming door was his only answer.

_Three hours later_

Travis divided the dough into four pieces.  Taking one, he dropped it onto the counter in the center of a small pile of flour.  After giving it a good pat, he sprinkled a little more flour on the top of the dough.  Humming happily, he took Wes’ solid maple rolling pin and began working the cookie dough into a circle. 

It shouldn’t have surprised him that Wes didn’t own anything even resembling a cookie cutter, but after much rummaging, he did eventually unearth a set of biscuit cutters.  While boring, they’d suffice until Travis could gift him with an Easter bunny, a bat, and or a Friar Tuck, if he could remember where he’d stashed that little family heirloom his second foster mom had given him.  Dipping the round cutters lightly into the flour, he began to cut and bake.

_Ninety minutes later_

Wes stopped at the garage door, breathing deeply before going through and into the house.  He was terrified of the mess that awaited him in the kitchen.  Travis was an amazing detective, one of the best he knew, but in all other areas of his life, he was a walking catastrophe. 

“Travis,” he called, “you still here?”

“Yeah, baby, in the kitchen.”

“Still?”

“Yeah, man, it’s a lot of work making cookies for the likes of you,” he retorted.  “I’m frosting them now, you want one?”

Wes’ mouth watered.  He loved sugar cookies, but they were much too labor-intensive to make on a whim, so they were a treat he didn’t get very often.  “Please tell me you’re using a real buttercream and not that crap out of a can.”

Travis met him halfway to the kitchen, frosting spatula in hand.  “Would I do something like that?”

“Yes, you would,” Wes countered, taking the spatula out of his hand, licking it tentatively.

Travis watched him, intently.  Wes figured he’d brought it with him for a similar reason – to tease him for being such a jerk earlier – but he made sure that backfired on him in a very good way.  Wes was surprised to find he could flirt, too, when inspired.  Who knew?

“This,” Wes announced, taking another long, slow lick of frosting, “is more than passible.  It’s quite delicious.  I’m impressed.”

“Why thank you,” Travis grinned.  “One of my foster moms worked in a bakery.  She had a real knack for sweets and loved to let us help.  That’s her recipe you’re tasting.”

“Give her my eternal thanks, would you?”  He cleaned the remaining bits of yellow frosting from the spatula and handed it back.

Travis looked at it and laughed.  “You expect me to frost the rest of the cookies with this now?”

Wes paled.  “God no, you know better than that.  There are at least two of those in the drawer.  Get to frosting, boy.”

Travis saluted and sauntered back to the kitchen.  Wes watched him go, idly thinking that the only thing tastier than that splendid buttercream was that boy’s ass.  Still craving sugar, he followed. 

With a flick of the wrist, Travis artfully smeared frosting on yet another circle of cookie.  He added a dash of pink sprinkles – where he’d found _pink sprinkles_ in his kitchen, he’d never know – and handed it to Wes.  “Want to taste the whole product this time, buttercup?”  Travis jauntily cocked a hip against the counter, cookie held aloft, looking very much like a sultry housewife.    

Wes licked his lips, slowly, looking Travis over fully.  “Oh, you’d better believe I want to taste the _whole product_ , June.”   He noticed for the first time that Travis had donned his worn, denim apron.  For some frightening reason, the idea of Travis as a housewife turned him on. 

“Well, come a little closer, Ward, I might have a little sample for you.”  Travis waved the cookie in front of Wes’ eyes.

With a wicked grin, Wes snagged the cookie from Travis’ fingers, biting into it gleefully.  He chewed, euphoria washing over him.  Light, fluffy, and yet crisp on the edges.  And that frosting… sweet, creamy, and totally addicting. 

“These are probably the best cookies I’ve ever had, Travis,” Wes complimented him. 

“You can thank Mama Caroline for that,” he said.

“You can thank her for me when you see her next,” Wes requested.  “She was truly talented.”

“She’s an amazing woman,” Travis agreed.  “But you… you have a bit of frosting right… here.”    

Travis leaned in, tongue flicking against the corner of Wes’ mouth, trailing up to the curve of his cheek, catching a wayward sprinkle that had landed there. 

Dipping a finger into the bowl of frosting on the countertop beside him, Wes tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck.  Lightly, he smudged a bit of frosting onto his neck, just above his open collar.  “I think I might have a little right there, too,” he breathed. 

“Well, looky there,” Travis grinned against his skin, “you sure do.”  He swiped his tongue against the pale, frosting tinted flesh, cleaning and teasing.  “I wonder where else you might have frosting,” Travis wondered aloud.

“Practical question,” Wes said, smiling.  “Do you think we need to check the rest of me?”

“I do,” Travis agreed.  “And to do that, we need to get you naked first.”

“Agreed.”

“Shall we take this back to the other room,” Travis suggested.

“Yes, we shall,” Wes said. 

Travis took Wes’ hand and tugged him towards the bedroom, bowl of frosting gripped tightly in his other hand. 

“Wait,” Wes cried, indignant, “can’t I have another cookie first?”  He scrabbled for the container holding all the frosted cookies, grabbing two before he was pulled away.

“You’d better eat fast, lover,” Travis warned, “or you might wind up wearing them.”

“Oh Travis, no,” Wes pouted, “we cannot have crumbs in my sheets!”

A chuckle rose from deep in Travis’ throat.  “Crumbs are the least of your worries right now, baby.”

Wes couldn’t disagree. 


End file.
